Lions can Breathe more Fire than Dragons
by OcarinaSapphire24
Summary: From Cersei's POV- the day of Joffrey's coronation- after Ned's arrest and the destruction of the Stark household. It's basically a long flashback, to her youth and several events preceding Book 1. Note: I wrote this when very new to fan-fiction and the series- and I only had Books 1 and 2.


**Cersei was 10 when she met the just-turned 17 year-old Rhaegar- Jaime was like 15 when he was knighted and accepted into the Kingsguard – 14/ 15-17 years have pass from the War of the Usurper/ Robert's Rebellion. Viserys was 8 when his brother died, of an age to Tyrion [in the series, Tyrion's older] – she and Jaime were twins (**how long did the war go for?**) - she's about 30, perhaps a bit older or younger by the start of GoT.**

**Note: I've only plotted the time ****very**** roughly. [**I reference stuff she says to Sansa later- I wanted a hint of how she may have felt, when young and in love, before Robert disappoints her/ reference to Maggy's prophecy, lead-into Margaery, how she's more similar to Cersei than Sansa and therefore, more trouble. The hint of her feelings for Jaime are there, but not huge- and there's only two references to Tyrion**] – I don't remember when her mother died, so the passage could be erroneous – I think Jaime was like 17, when he killed Aerys – the last paragraph, I wanted to give some sense of her initial realisation, that Joffrey's going to be hard to control- and, I wanted a hint, toward Books Two and Three- A Clash Of Kings/ A Storm Of Swords- I've only read Book Two.**

Watching her son be crowned, Cersei curiously felt little. She was proud, of course- how could she not be? It was a great achievement, certainly- and hard-won.

But it wasn't the most elated she'd ever felt- not even her wedding had been what she'd hoped for, especially not with what transpired later on her wedding night...

Oh, that should have been long forgotten- but it wasn't- and never would be.

No- the greatest day of her life, had been meeting Prince Rhaegar- she was ten years old and looked somewhat mature for her age, not to mention being a beautiful golden doll of a girl- he'd just turned seventeen and was newly knighted.

Her father had invited the King and his Court to a joust at their magnificent home Casterly Rock- and she had been granted permission to attend, for two reasons, her father had declared- one, a Lannister, no matter their sex, could not afford squeamishness- blood was spilt in life- people died, it was a fact- nothing good would come from shielding her from it- and two, he confided a great and wonderful secret to her; he would persuade King Aerys II to make a match between the Prince and her- he had only an infant brother and no sisters. Oh! The wonder and joy she had felt- to be one day be a queen. Queen of Kingslanding- Queen of all Westeros- Queen!

But that excitement seemed pale, in comparison to the explosion of feeling she had, on _finally_ seeing the highly anticipated Prince Rhaegar. _He was SO handsome_: seeing he and Jaime side by side, was like a taper to a blazing fire- her darling, dearly loved Jaime appeared no more than a callow youth.

Her father's people had cheered her father louder than the King- though Aerys' lips had thinned, he'd made no comment – but they had absolutely erupted for Rhaegar- the whole citadel seemed to echo with his name.

She was standing with her parents and Jaime, dressed in her best- and kept thinking how she would have loved to have run her fingers through his mass of silver-gilt hair, lay it alongside her own golden locks.

He was perfect; tall and prepossessing- he smiled and greeted everyone, high and low. But his eyes- those deep violet eyes, that looked almost indigo, there was such sadness in them – 'the shadow of Summerhall', her father had replied, when she'd mentioned it.

_His sadness will naturally depart when we marry_, she thought, with all the childish arrogance, that only a beautiful and confident ten-year old girl could have. _I will make him __**so**__ happy, _she promised herself and her parents_\- we will have beautiful children with white and silver and golden hair- and lavender, violet, indigo and green eyes - I will easily give him a dozen little princes and princesses. I will be the loveliest, prettiest, most charming princess of all the realms- the King and Queen __**will**__ love me. _

_I will make him such a wonderful wife and queen, _she assured herself.

_A whole treasury full of jewels for me_! She then thought ecstatically- _along with_ _the best dressmakers and seamstresses in all of Westeros- costly imports from every region imaginable- and even some that weren't_.

She had already begun to plan her life in Kingslanding out: she would have to find out the likes and dislikes of Rhaegar, the King and the Queen- she would need to know all that would please them- she would have to think about her wardrobe when she moved to Kingslanding, her chambers, the nursery chambers for her children- what her wedding dress would look like- what she'd wear on her wedding night- _oh, her wedding night_ – there were so **many** things to think about.

But the tournament had come and gone- and yet there had been no hint that her father had reached an understanding with the King. She, Jaime and her parents had spent every possible moment in their company while they were in her home – Jaime already utterly idolised Rhaegar- and when the men were out, she attended on the Queen with her mother and other ladies- but Queen Rhaella seemed a very sad and melancholy person, too. _How could she be_, thought Cersei ignorantly, _with the riches of hundreds of years- with such a place as Kingslanding as her home_?

She didn't waste time pondering the Queens' sadness- she asked Rhaella and her ladies about life in the Capitol; what the fashions were - what the Red Keep was like- she asked what the Queen was interested in, what mattered to the King- and most importantly, all of Rhaegar's likes and dislikes.

But, by the time the King, her father and the others returned, early in the evening- she had still learned very little; the Queen did not speak much, in general and rarely gave expansive answers to questions put to her- her ladies seemed little better- shadows of their mistress, no more - and Cersei now felt the Queen a somewhat disappointing individual. _No doubts now, that I am needed there: when I present the Queen with her grandchildren, she'll brighten up considerably - I think her a very dull person. She seems to take no interest or delight in anything. When I'm Crown Princess of Westeros, I will make sure Kingslanding is filled with love, light, life and laughter. In fact, the King may come to rely on me, as a hostess, as much as he does my father, for his political savvy – imagine, __me__, confidant to the King_!

Even though the tournament had not ended with a declaration or understanding, Cersei had still held out hope. She had even travelled to Kingslanding on occasion and seen the magnificent city for herself- and _knew_ it was where she belonged – but, in the time following those glorious days, it'd all gone so wrong: her beautiful mother Joanna had died, bringing that malformed creature into the world; her dwarf brother Tyrion- and much, if not all of her father's happiness seemed to go with her.

Then Jaime had been knighted, which she thought wonderful, of course; knighthood was his dream and he'd then been made a member of the illustrious Kingsguard- she had been thrilled to see him in his shining, gilt and white enamelled armour, with its' intricate knot-work- and his snowy white cloak. She had shared in his joy, unabated on that day. At fifteen, he was the youngest ever to join- and his pride was enormous.

But her father had been barely able to contain his fury – he had angrily resigned his appointment as Hand of the King- and then had dragged her back, alone- to Casterly Rock.

When she'd asked him why he'd been so upset, at such an esteemed position for her brother- he told her everything: reminding her that the Kingsguard were by law, celibate- paranoid King Aerys' 'generosity', had in fact been designed to rob him of his golden heir- leaving only Tyrion- or her – and Aerys had insulted their family, declaring she was 'not good enough for a Targaeyron prince'.

Cersei, completely shocked at what Jaime's elevation actually meant, now- and not a little dismayed at all her dreams being shattered so brutally, had burst into tears- while her father had raged on… about the total thanklessness with which he'd come to endure his position, as the years passed- the utter ingratitude, after all he'd done- **all** the years of loyal service to the King, whom many had already started to call 'mad', which had meant _nothing_ to Aerys.

But by and by, he'd calmed down- and put a firm hand on the still-weeping Cersei's shoulder, and bade her stop. "Daughter- what are our words?"

Cersei repeated both, as they were as well known as each other- strangely, the unofficial came to her mind first, "A Lannister always pays their debts – Hear Me Roar." Then she burst out, "I hate them! I wish whoever he loves, whoever he marries, plague. And I hope the King is mad- so mad that he dies hated and despised **everywhere**!"

Tywin had smiled grimly, "The insult he has heaped on our family, **will** be repaid," he said, enfolding his only daughter in a rare embrace, "- and perhaps I will see to it that his son's future family suffer for your pain. The wheel moves forward, not backwards- remember: everything is timing, in politics. Now, dry your eyes; you may yet marry well."

And so it had gone - she had screamed her fury and smashed two bottles of Lysene perfume, when she heard not long after, that Rhaegar had married the frail Elia Martell of the principality of Dorne; Cersei heard she'd had a difficult time carrying and bearing Rhaegar's first child, a daughter, Rhaenys- and later, barely survived the birth of their son, Aegon- so much so, it was rumoured she wouldn't be able to have any more children.

_That_ was who the Mad King had thought was better than her- a sickly Dornishwoman who'd only _just_ produced two children (who were likely as fragile as her)- and wouldn't be able to have others.

Part of her felt satisfaction- believing Rhaegar couldn't possibly be happy with such a shadow of a woman. Part of her was **still** furious that she hadn't been able to secure him for herself- and miserable, that Rhaegar hadn't fought for her hand, like she'd heard the bards sing about in the old songs about his ancestors.

But then came the infamous Harrenhal tournament, where Rhaegar had passed over his own wife, and to the shock of everyone, crowned young Lyanna Stark- as the Queen of Love and Beauty, despite the fact that she was betrothed to his distant kinsman Robert Baratheon – and some time later, he'd disappeared with Lyanna.

Her father, Lord Rickard Stark and his eldest son Brandon, betrothed to some Tully girl- viewing the event as abduction- had come to Kingslanding, demanding justice of Aerys, for his son's act- he had refused to give it. After having them killed, quite imaginatively, she'd heard- the Mad King had demanded that Jon Arryn, the High Lord of the Vale give up the late lord's younger son and Lyanna's betrothed, both of whom were fostered with him- presumably to also be killed – but he had refused- and civil war had begun.

Yet, her father- and the West had remained quite firmly neutral; not opposing the King, but not joining either he or the rebels (though they were surprisingly successful – or, perhaps it was not so surprising- others had been chafing under him, it seemed). Not til the Battle of the Trident- when his first heir Rhaegar had died, at Robert's hand – word had come to Casterly Rock- and Cersei had not cried when the messenger told her, but she could imagine it, in her mind's eye.

Her father had headed straight for Kingslanding, aiming to arrive there before the rebel force- and he had. The Mad King had ordered the gates to the city thrown open; but they proved no allies to the feckless Aerys- the Lannister force had turned on the defenders, and then proceeded to sack the capital.

Word came to her from her father; two of his men had fulfilled his promise to her: Elia and Rhaegar's children had been killed, along with their Dornish mother. She had later heard rumours of exactly _how_ they'd died- and considering one of the men was the brutal and giant Ser Gregor Clegane, Cersei had preferred not to dwell on the details.

But, disappointingly, the King's younger son and pregnant wife had been sent to Dragonstone Isle before the city had been sealed off- word later came that the child she bore was a daughter, the second Princess Daenerys, but had died doing so- and then the children, with their loyalist protectors, had fled to the East. So Targaeyrons remained yet, if only in exile.

Jaime himself had killed the Mad King, breaking his Kingsguard vows and dubiously earning the title 'Kingslayer'.

Robert was now completely and utterly victorious- and he was not married – the victory that Twyin had achieved, late in the war though it had been, along with the vast wealth of the West that he controlled, entitled him to a certain amount of precedence and decision-making power in the proceedings following- the most central being; in return for Tywin backing the Royal Treasury with his own forges, Robert would marry Cersei- and make her his Queen.

So her planned wedding dress, the heirloom bridal jewels of the Lannisters and her bride-night dress had been needed after all: the former being an absolute dream of a gown, made of snow white silk, ivory veiling and cloth of gold- her huge sleeves had been ornamented with armlets of fine yellow gold, set with star rubies- the gold coronet set on her head, holding her veil, was etched with lions, each eye being picked out with tiny rubies- and the hand-span wide girdle that encircled her waist, was an incredibly well-crafted and weighty piece, with two ruby-eyed lion heads facing each other- with a star ruby the size of a pigeon's egg between their jaws.

And her nightgown also had long, hanging sleeves- but it was of the finest linen imaginable.

Her arrival in Kingslanding had been very different to the last time; she was not merely arriving as a High Lord's daughter, but as a Queen-to-be – but so too was the city a different place- people stared sullenly, but silently at the lion rampant banners of her house- though they had loudly cheered Robert, Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark, when they had arrived in the triumphal procession.

She had also noticed on her arrival, an influx of some Dornish styles, not present on her last visit- that had to have come with the late Elia and her ladies - and would change once more, with her now setting the fashion for the Court.

Eddard- or Ned, as most called him, said he would stay only for the wedding ceremony and the toasting at the feast, but he would have to leave for home immediately after- he had a new wife and a new-born son that he had not seen in more than a year- and apparently a young bastard that he had to see to- as well as looking after the whole of the North, which was now his responsibility.

So he had left for Winterfell, and he would stay there in his cold northern homeland, undisturbed for over a decade and a half- closer to two; except for when he joined his King to stamp out Greyjoy's Rebellion.

She had become Queen and wife in one day, married and crowned at the Great Sept- Robert had been a maiden's fantasy, back then; tall, straight-backed, muscled, black-bearded, strong- a warrior and a man's man. But he was also good-natured (except where the Targareyons were concerned) and as quick to laugh, as he was to temper. He was a man who enjoyed good food, good drink and good entertainment- of many kinds. He already had at least, two bastard children she knew of- but neither bastards, nor their mothers were entitled to much, by law- so it didn't worry her overly.

But she had **hated** Robert, the moment he whispered _that_ name on **_her_** wedding night- and the Starks by extension- from that same night, yet had mostly hidden it all these years. Her father was right, 'the wheel only moves forwards'.

Though she had long come to despise her bloated, whoremongering husband and his absurd clinging to the memory of a girl he had barely known, barely remembered- by his own admission; his insistence on joining their families- in his words, 'the way they should have been'- had not been terrible as she'd thought.

She looked at the girl, in the moment, before the crown was placed on Joffrey, much as she had when they'd met at the Winterfell feast: Sansa was young, naïve, not all that bright, but very pretty and had been eager to please- she remembered her own eagerness at such an age- for marriage to Rhaegar, then Robert and everything that life in the capital offered.

And yet, there were many more differences between them, than similarities- Sansa was now alone, without power, without friends- she would not be the girl from Maggy's prophecy- Cersei would not allow it to come to pass. The old witch's prophecy was not something she shared with anyone, not even Jaime whom she shared absolutely _everything_ with- and as a consequence, he couldn't understand the depth of her hatred for their brother. Sansa was fetching- as always, but silent today- she had been mostly as a statue, since her father's arrest and the- departure- of virtually all her family's household. _Yes, it will be easy to control her- she will cause me no trouble_, thought Cersei complacently.

The day of her son's coronation had presented fine weather, though she detected a bare hint of dark cloud, far away, and nearly flat against the horizon- and she wished Jaime could have been there to share their victory, but he was held captive, by the Northern rebels.

The day after Stark's death, the cloud had grown, though still little more than a smear- it was still fine enough for her to take a walk. _At least all threats to her great secret were taken care of- and Robert and Ned were both gone now_\- he, who had gone out the way he deserved; a drunkard, gored by a wild boar- Cersei had had to stop herself from falling into hysterical laughter when she'd been told - and Ned, the brother he'd wished he'd had (in place of the two he **actually** had- though he didn't actually _dislike_ Renly - in fact, charming, genial Renly's esteem had only added to his own), the brother of his beloved Lyanna- an avowed traitor, beheaded for his treason- for not accepting Joffrey was the true and rightful heir to the throne.

Cersei suppressed a sigh, as she and her ladies took a turn about the gardens- his death would mean civil war, against the hardened Northmen- not that Joffrey cared - but then, he hadn't lived through one, like she had.

A chill breeze, gusted harshly, if only momentarily around the courtyard, before gentling into a milder wind- _perhaps it __**was**__ the heralding of a storm_, she thought absently, as she and her ladies smoothed her skirts.


End file.
